


God Tier

by uglyNicc



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Creampie, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, F/F, F/M, Group Sex, Hallucinations, M/M, Multi, Nipple Play, No Refractory Period, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ritual Sex, Size Difference, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, heed these tags people and let me know if I forgot any
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 21:37:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyNicc/pseuds/uglyNicc
Summary: Troy felt his vision clouding at the edges, lids growing heavy. He broke into a dazed smile as the drugs circulated through his system, slowing his reactions, making everything seem as if it were delayed, that he was seeing and hearing echos of things already passed, no longer reacting in real time.Strange noises, impossible sounds trickled through the haze; the flutter of wings, the satisfying crunch of bone, the soft pitter patter of blood dripping. The smell of incense grew stronger, the sweet smell of decay and spice mixing with sweat and sex flooding his nostrils.(Ritual Troy/COV Cult sex ahoy~)





	God Tier

**Author's Note:**

> !! Heed those tags people, there's a lot of things that could potentially make you uncomfortable if this isn't your cup of tea !! 
> 
> That said, if you're here for some weird cult sex between Troy Calypso and some COV followers, then you are in the right place! :D 
> 
> I think this is the first time I've written something a bit darker, so let me know if I forgot any tags, and if you enjoyed it! Everything is consensual here, but there is drug use and creepy hallucinations, among other things.

It’d been his idea.

Tyreen had blanched, her face scrunched in disgust. “Are you fucking crazy?”

Troy shrugged, her reaction already anticipated and expected, but he was confident in the plan he'd drafted up.

“You want our followers, _our followers_, who, let’s face it, might as well be taking daily baths in crazy and pestilence, to —“

Tyreen trailed off, her hands making confused gestures in the air as the words got stuck in her mouth.

“Look, Ty,” he tried explaining again, though the concept was simple enough. “We add a new tier to our Culteon - it’ll be the highest one, ‘The God Tier,’ so only the mostly-not-crazy ones with the better hygiene standards can afford the monthly subscription.”

Tyreen crossed her arms, still looking at him like he was wearing a skag ribcage on his head. “I get that part. Aren’t you afraid of…I dunno, catching something?”

“I explained that part already,” Troy sighed. He was fully aware what he was proposing, and that there were risks he would need to account for, but he already had his mind set on realizing this course of action.

Besides, he'd argued, running a cult came with expenses, and this was a sure-fire way to bring in a regular, hefty chunk of cash.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he didn't mention how it’d also allow him some indulgences he’d never admit to wanting.

Tyreen frowned, tight lipped, eyes narrowed as she examined her brother, like he was some exotic new species of insect under a microscope. Troy crossed his arms, his hunkering cybernetic bent at an odd angle, holding her gaze stubbornly. They stared each other down for a few moments, neither of them willing to budge.

Finally, Tyreen rolled her eyes, stomping off in exasperation, or possibly disgust.

“Fine, do whatever you want, bro,” she called behind her. “Just be careful, and be damn sure I never, EVER, have to see it.”

The creak of a door opening brought Troy back to the present.

He sat back on his haunches on the padded platform. His knees rested on the pupil of a giant eye, painted in red and black in messy, sprawling strokes across the ground, the surface of the altar prepared for The Rite. Not as plush as it'd once been, the floor was reminiscent of the walls lining the cells of insane asylums, firm, but soft enough to prevent injury when a body was slammed against it.

Completely nude where he sat, he peered into the darkness, and gradually pinpoints of glowing light emerged as multiple figures padded through the gloom, a mixture of heavy bootfalls and the light treads of bare feet.

Smoke from insence burners further obscured his vision, wafting up in thick plumes toward the single light source above, the overpowering scents of sage and long dead flowers making it difficult to breathe.

This was the room they usually held their smaller Murder Rallies, vast enough to accommodate milling crowds of Psychos and Bandits and whatever unfortunate Offerings they’d rounded up. Only now, rather than the heat of floodlights and blare of loudspeakers and screams, Troy was bathed in the cool circle of a dimmed spotlight. It cast a perfect circle on the round platform, darkness drinking up everything outside it.

The pinpoints of blue light grew as the footsteps came closer, and skeletal faces became visible. They all wore similar skull masks, eyes wide, glowing LED orbs, the same lights illuminating toothy ghoul grins, completely hiding the faces beneath.

They milled at the edge of the circle, waiting. By this point, Troy recognized each of the five participants, and noted a sixth was missing.  
  
Anonymity was a requirement, and none of them were permitted to remove their mask for the duration of the Rite. Troy knew their real names on paper, but those names could belong to any one of the figures before him. For his own benefit of sorting who was who, Troy had assigned nicknames to them all.

Starting on the left was Scramble, named as such since Troy suspected he was the most unstable of the bunch. Even now, the man was shifting restlessly, his thin hands clenching in and out of fists, fingers curling as if clawing unseen enemies before him.

Next was Dreads, high ponytail holding back waist-length dreadlocks, some beaded with pieces of bone and metal. His stance was relaxed, arms crossed over his studded vest, head tilted to the side as the glowing eyes of his mask trailed over Troy’s form.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, the backs of their hands touching, were The Ladies. The Tall Lady stood rigid and upright, chin of her mask thrust out regally, short bob of dark hair framing her leering skull mask. Her companion was much shorter, the curve of her breasts peeking through rips and tears in her tank top, stomach protruding slightly in soft rolls over the waist of her tattered cutoffs.

Lastly, towering above the rest, thick, muscular arms hanging as the sides of his enormous body, was Bullymong. Troy bit at his lip, an unconscious reaction to seeing who he’d come to regard as his favourite in this regular gathering. It would be dangerous to get attached, and he was sure he'd have no interest in the man outside this Rite, but Troy didn’t see the harm in having a preference among this group.

Without having to be told, Troy knew the sixth member was absent due to failing the mandatory monthly health checks. Fail once more, and he’d be kicked out of the God Tier for good, never permitted to participate in this ritual again.

The five of them stood around the circle, obidient, though Scramble was very visibly growing more agitated. Still, his feet remained planted to the floor along with the rest, waiting for their Twin God to signal the beginning of the ritual.

The click and whir of machinery sounded as Troy's Cam Bot, C.H.4.7, came out of standby mode.

The camera drone circled just out of view in the darkness, but Troy knew the trusty machine would capture quality video even in the less than ideal lighting. They weren't live streaming, but in addition to the God Tier these five were a part of, he'd also established a Demi-God Tier. Those of means who weren't quite able to afford the luxury of his time were still granted access to the footage he'd be uploading behind the pay wall.

Pulse quickening, Troy kept the five of them waiting a while longer. C.H.4.7 circled the platform, recording but programmed to keep it's distance so as not to infringe on the sanctity of the Rite.

Tattooed chest rising as he inhaled deeply, Troy crossed his flesh hand over to his cybernetic, popping open a small storage compartment that housed two, vibrantly purple capsules. Snapping the compartment shut after retrieving them, Troy’s lips curved into a wicked grin before he placed the pills on his tongue.

The pills immediately began dissolving, numbing his tongue slightly as a woody taste filled his mouth. Swallowing an excess of saliva along with the strange flavour, all five of the Children of The Vault stepped onto the altar, the cue to begin clear.

They kept their distance at first. Before the drugs took hold, Troy wondered again at what appeared to be a very clear hierarchy among these five. He didn’t spend more time with their War Meat than was required of him most days, but from the behaviour he’d witnessed during past Rites, there seemed to be a solidly established pecking order.

Of these five, the Tall Lady was definitely the alpha. The others, even the looming bulk of Bullymong, stood back as she walked towards their Twin God, the Shorter Lady in tow.

Already Troy felt his vision clouding at the edges, his lids growing heavy. He broke out into a dazed smile as the drugs circulated through his system, slowing his reactions, making everything seem as if it were delayed, that he was seeing and hearing echos of things already passed, his eyes and ears no longer reacting in real time.

He registered that The Shorter Lady had moved to kneel before him, bringing them face to mask. She raised her arms as the Tall Lady stripped off her shirt. Eyes drifting down, Troy ran his hands over her breasts. She recoiled slightly at the cold touch of his mechanical fingers, but leaned into the touch and sighed as Troy stooped to run his lips over the smooth skin.

They were not allowed to speak during the Rite, but as he swiped his tongue around a hardening bud, Troy heard a quiet sigh in response, muffled by the mask. She held onto his shoulders, both flesh and cybernetic, to steady herself as the God leaned in, suckling and fondling her heavy breasts.

Troy's motions were uncoordinated and sluggish. It was growing increasingly difficult to command the movements of his body, and while he’d be happy to continue, nibbling on a pert nipple, it was a relief when he was gently nudged back, easing down to rest on his elbows before laying flat on the padded floor.

The others continued to watch, shifting like a single entity with a hive mind, circling nearer and nearer. As the Shorter Lady ran her fingers over Troy’s growing erection, he cast his gaze to where the Tall Lady stood, a few steps further than the others.

As expected, the glowing eyes of her mask were fixed firmly on the Shorter Lady, who now moved to straddle his slender hips. From what Troy had seen, the Tall one had little, if any interest in participating in the ritual herself. He hadn’t seen the reason to fork over huge wads of cash each month just to watch, until he'd seen her reactions to the Shorter One in action.

Breathing fast as he felt himself guided into tight, wet heat, Troy saw his own arousal mirrored in the rapid rise and fall of the Tall Lady’s chest, a pink flush spreading over her neck as the Shorter One sank onto his cock.

The Tall Lady took a seat to watch, signalling that some unspoken barrier had melted away, giving permission to the others. Suddenly there were hands all over him, stroking his cheek, his throat, his chest, palms running up and down his legs, fingers begging entry at his lips.

Pliant and willing where he lay, he sucked on Dreads' fingers as he let them press into his mouth. He closed his eyes, tasting the faint tang of salt, hearing the soft gasps of the Shorter Lady as she rode him, rising up before dropping down and grinding her hips against his.

_Give your flesh._

Troy's eyes fluttered open. He was fully under the influence of the pills now, watching the sway and bounce of the Shorter Lady’s breasts as her movements quickened, the lighted eyes and teeth of her mask painting long, glowing lines in the air where she moved.

_Give your flesh,_ the guttural whisper came again, the toothy grin of the woman’s mask growing impossibly wide.

He knew it wasn’t real, knew it was all part of the Rite. They all knew that if anyone other than Troy, the Twin God they were there to worship, uttered more than a single sigh or gasp, they’d be cast out.

The masks though, the leering skulls with soulless eyes, the masks always spoke to him.

His breathing was growing ragged, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his brow and sternum as his pleasure grew, spiking each time he was taken to the hilt. He wanted to touch her breasts some more, wanted to grip her hips and slam up into her, but he couldn’t will his limbs to obey.

By design, Troy was passive in this Rite, a willing, eager participant, but rendered nearly immobile, a revered vessel to be worshipped. Vulnerable as he was, not a single one of them would dare hurt him. They wouldn’t risk anything that would increase their pleasure at the risk of his.

The favor and pleasure of their Twin God were paramount.

The sultry rhythm and heat enveloping him felt amazing. The drugs dulled his faculties but increased his capacity for pleasure, and he was about to come when suddenly she pulled off him with one last twist of her hips.

Engrossed as he was in his own arousal, Troy hadn’t registered whether the Shorter Lady had come or not. He lamented the loss of contact, the interruption putting a damper on his buzz as he watched her crawling back to the Tall Lady.

The Rite was their time to indulge in his body, to experience a closeness to their God that few were privy too. However the Tall Lady was entirely content to watch him and who Troy assumed was her lover. He didn’t begrudge their vouyerism, and watching them nuzzle and paw at each other on the fringe of the platform sent a thrill of heat through him.

Scramble moved eagerly to take his place between Troy’s legs, but Dreads pushed him out of the way. The fidgety man made a noise remnant of a hiss but backed off, moving to Troy’s side instead.

It was another action that backed up Troy’s theory that the Tall Lady was the apex predator of the group, while Scrambles was the lowly mongrel at the bottom of their hierarchy.

As Dreads pulled a packet of lube from a vest pocket, Bullymong shuffled on his knees behind Troy's head, easily lifting the smaller man’s mechanical and flesh shoulders off the floor. He felt fingers, slick and cool, probing and curling within him as he was pulled back against the reassuring heat of Bullymong’s body. Reclined in a sitting position against the other man, legs spread wide as Dreads guided himself in, Troy let his head loll back against Bullymong's solid body.

There was the faintest whisper of pain, the drugs taking the edge off, as Dreads pressed forward to fully sheath himself. Still, his body registered the intrusion, and the effects of the pills didn’t completely suppress the instinct to pull away.

Bullymong’s large hands stroked Troy's stomach and chest, his dry, calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they trailed over the tattooed flesh. The touch was calming, distracting as it avoided the places Troy wanted attention to most. He relaxed, melting back into the much larger body at his back while Dreads took up a steady pace.

He shivered as Dreads hit his prostate, tried moving into the press of the other man’s hips but was unable to move with any effectiveness. The darkness and smoke pressed in around him like a blanket thrown over a bird's cage. His lids were heavy, unfocused, arms limp where they splayed out on the floor, palms up.

Turning his head, he saw The Ladies had fully disrobed, their hands familiar on each other’s bare skin, both masks turned towards him, eyes ghostly and haunting through the low light, ominous, like hungry wolves in the woods.

_Witness_, they growled in unison, their dead pupils expanding, their light burning brighter to leave spots Troy could see when he closed his eyes. He bit his lip as he felt Dreads pick up the pace, the slap of skin echoing in the vast, dark silence.

Something wet at his cheek made him open his eyes again. His vision was flooded by Scramble’s leaking erection, another drop of pre falling onto Troy’s skin as the man stroked himself hurriedly.

Without another thought, Troy opened his mouth obligingly, gagging slightly as Scramble rutted forward impatiently, legs bent uncomfortably to accommodate the odd angle into Troy’s mouth.

Troy moaned around the shaft, tasted the tang of pre as he swallowed. Keeping his lips tight and throat relaxed was difficult work under the circumstances, as Dreads gripped his legs, spreading them wider as he pressed them back to open Troy to him further.

Bullymong continued to caress him, tracing the ink on his skin while Scramble shallowly fucked his mouth and Dreads hammered into him.  
  
Overloaded with senstations, Troy gazed up blearily. The rows of glowing teeth grinning down from Scramble’s mask parted and spoke to him. The voice was nasal and cold, the words spoken directly into his skull.

_Take your guns,_ it hissed, echoing through bone and brain.

Troy felt fingers in his hair, drool seeping from the corner of his mouth, the relentless slide of flesh over his tongue. Nose pressed into the coarse hair at the base of the shaft, Troy whimpered as Scramble stilled, pulsing in his mouth as rivulets of hot come splashed down his throat.

He swallowed, but his reactions were sluggish and he wasn't fast enough. Come dripped out of his open mouth as Scramble released his hold on Troy's hair and withdrew.

A particularly hard thrust from Dreads made him come unexpectedly, gasping, head thrown back against Bullymong’s muscular chest as orgasm wracked his body. Heat rushed through his veins like a flash flood, and he felt like his entire body would drift into nothingness if it weren’t for the hands holding him down.

The rough pad of Bullymong’s thumb collected the wetness trickling down his chin, pressing it past Troy’s slack lips. Moaning, Troy obediently sucked the digit clean. He repeated the task as the same fingers dragged through the mess smattered over his stomach, collecting and feeding him his own come.

Strange noises began to register in his ears, impossible sounds trickling through the haze; the flutter of wings, the satisfying crunch of bone, the soft pitter patter of blood dripping. The smell of the incense grew stronger, the sweet smell of decay and spice mixing with sweat and musk flooding his nostrils. 

As the afterglow of his first orgasm faded, he became aware of Scramble at his side again, this time thumbing and pulling at Troy's nipples, hardening them under frantic ministrations. Electric tendrils shot through him, some of the touches a shade too rough, but welcome none the less.

The drugs minimized his refractory period to nearly nothing, and despite the induced lethargy rendering him immobile, his heart thrummed behind his ribs, his cock still hard, the dull ache of need slithering through his gut as his body demanded more.

His eyes darted between his legs, where Dreads' movements grew increasingly aggressive. He couldn't get a good look at the point of their joining from this angle, but was entranced by every small detail, from the contrast of their skin, the slap of their bodies, the heavy breathing he could hear behind the mask. 

_Give your flesh_.

Cold dread flooded his chest as Troy watched the glowing mass of teeth elongate into rows of razor sharp fangs, spectral maw widening as a thick, drooling tongue descended. 

He should recoil, should pull away, but the frightening display only served to spiral his excitement higher.

_Give your skin_, the aberration implored again, tongue growing longer still, moving in serpentine motions as if under its own volition.

Breathing fast, the potent cocktail of arousal and faintest hint of terror coursing through him, Troy felt fingers close around his cock. Whose he wasn't sure, but the hand pumped him in time to the unforgiving rhythm Dreads beat against him.

He felt the sudden pulse of Dreads' cock and a flood of warmth within him, his body bent almost double as the man between his legs drove forward and Troy was coming again, toes curling as he shuddered between the three men.

Troy wasn’t sure if he was silent or moaning, his jaw slack and mouth open, the rush of blood screaming in his ears.

Shuddering as Dreads withdrew, Troy felt wetness seep out, escaping the tight confines to drip over his skin down to pool on the padded floor. His legs flopped uselessly where Dreads laid them down with reverent care against the floor.

Barely giving him time to recover, there were fingers inside him again, pressing through Dreads’ climax, pushing more to dribble out.

He hadn't realized his head had lolled to the side until he felt Bullymong's large hand on his jaw, directing his gaze.

Bullymong, he thought. His favourite, waiting, patiently, playing the part of some sort of sentinel. Not waiting to accommodate the others, but biding his time, watching possessively. Troy also guessed that, along with the Ladies, Bullymong enjoyed a bit of voyeurism before his turn to participate.

Troy tried to focus on whatever Bullymong wanted him to see. Scramble, ever the restless hands, masked face mere inches from Troy's hole, twisted and probed his fingers, like someone tinkering with delicate machinery.

Movements languid and slow, Dreads sidled up to his side, palms running over Troy's throat, chest, abs, touching to soothe rather than excite.

The touch of both Dreads and Scramble were dull enough that Troy had time to regain his breath, but insistent enough that the ebb and flow of pleasure remained constant.

Scramble continued fingering him, undeterred as suddenly, the Shorter Lady returned to the fray. She stroked Troy, impatiently bringing him back to full hardness. Just as suddenly as she’d returned, she unceremoniously straddled Troy's hips again and dropped down, taking no pause before riding him at a gallop.

Her breathing was harsh, nails dragging over the mess on Troy's abdomen as she threw her weight down with abandon, taking him to the hilt again and again. A low whine escaped Troy’s throat, not quite ready for this new wave of sensation, Scramble still fingering him clumsily.

His eyes darted back to the Tall Lady, no longer quite so stoic as her slender fingers rubbed at her clit, one hand at her own breast as she watched her lover go rigid, body tensing vicelike around Troy, her nails biting shallowly into the inked skin.

Troy made a strangled noise as her movements slowed to a stop. He weakly rolled his hips into the velvety heat, desperate for movement.

He was painfully hard now as she stood on wobbly legs, returning to the arms of her equally sated lover.

Scrambles, knuckle deep within him, nuzzled Troy's wet and leaking cock with his mask, casting an eeirie glow over the tight muscle of his abs.

Out of nowhere, the smell of extinguished matches surrounded him, and he felt the smoke in the room lick his body as the eyes in the mask between his legs rolled back into the skull, leaving two gapping black voids before the glowing orbs dropped back into place like candy tumbling from a dispenser.

_Honour the Twin God_.

The fingers were pulled out of him and Troy was hoisted up, as if him and his bulky cybernetic arm weighed nothing. He teetered on his feet for a few brief moments as Bullymong's massive hands clasped his shoulders, turning Troy round to face him.

Looking up, he saw that Bullymong's mask was similar to the others, but the skull shape was more that of a beast, the glowing rows of teeth elongated fangs, with tusks curving out from the corners of the dead smile.  
  
With a great deal of effort, Troy lifted his flesh hand and ran his fingers over one of the tusks, smooth and cool under his touch.

Bullymong regarded him a few moments, letting his God explore his mask, hands still resting on Troy's shoulders. He paid no mind to the other men, who pawed and rubbed at Troy's legs, sides, back, any skin they could reach.

Someone eased Troy's limp arms, both flesh and mechanical, behind his back, and he felt a pressure on his head which bent him forward. His knees were weak but hands on his hips and the pull on his arms kept him from toppling over.

His head lolled forward, vision swimming, the painted symbols on the floor an incomprehensible red and black mess in his current state. He heard the teeth of a zipper and his gut tightened in anticipation. This was the main event, at least as far as Troy was concerned.

There was a reason Bullymong was his favourite.

With some difficulty, Troy raised his head, the room swaying as he was faced with Bullymong's massive hard on bobbing mere inches from his face.

He licked his lips reflexively before letting his mouth fall open, tongue hanging out obscenely.

The hunkering man didn't leave him waiting long, giving the shaft a few slow tugs with his wide fingers before clasping the base, stepping forward to tap the bulbous tip against Troy's tongue teasingly.

Bent forward with arms behind him, Troy strained, mouth opening wider, a pleading sound bubbling up from his throat.

Perhaps taking pity on him, or perhaps tired of waiting, Bullymong obliged, lightly fisting Troy's hair and guiding his cock into the God's eager mouth.

If he hadn't been in a drug fuelled haze, Troy might have been embarrassed by the desperate sound that escaped him as his jaw was forced wider, lips stretched around the massive girth, thick veins pulsing against his tongue. He swallowed frantically, air rushing from his nostrils, as the heavy weight of Bullymong's cock slid over his tongue.

He choked slightly, a shudder rippling through his body as he took all he could into his mouth, and Bullymong stopped easing forward, fingers still clasped around the part of his cock Troy couldn't fit.

Just at that moment, the hands on Troy's hips tightened, and he was penetrated in one quick thrust.

Already full of Dreads’ load, fluid leaked down the back of Troy's legs. He groaned, sending vibrations along Bullymong's velvety hard shaft, his eyes rolling back as both his mouth and hole were filled, his body restrained by strong, steady hands.

It felt so good, too good, being so full, each sensation magnified further by the drugs and sense of powerlessness of being held in place between multiple bodies.

Bullymong stayed still, anchored and immovable where he lumbered in front of him, hand firmly in Troy's hair, as the man behind the God began thrusting. Scramble, Troy guessed, judging by the erratic, rushed movements, as if fearing someone would stop him before he finished.  
  
His body was propelled forward on each thrust, pulled back on each withdraw, the motion moving him along Bullymong's cock in juttering movements.

The hands on his arms kept him from being jostled too far forward, but even so, tears formed at the corner of Troy's eyes, drool seeping from the corners of his mouth as he was jostled between them, his body a holy vessel for their pleasure.

It wasn't long before Scramble came again, frantically emptying into Troy, hands vicelike in their grip on his hips, filling him with another rush of fluid.

He was hard, aching, and made an incoherent noise of displeasure when, suddenly both Scramble and Bullymong withdrew, leaving him empty and wanting. Hands lifted and pulled at him again and his unresponsive body was manouvered back to standing upright.

Troy swayed dangerously on his feet before Bullymong's hands gripped him by the waist to hoist him up off the floor.

Legs too limp to wrap around Bullymong's wide mid section, Troy clung limply to the larger man's broad shoulders, fingers gripping weakly in the leather fabric of the man's open vest.

Scramble and Dreads eased him back, pulling their God's upper body away from the sturdy chest as Bullymong took a firm hold of Troy's legs. Troy felt the blunt tip of Bullymong's thick cock at his leaking entrance, come seeping out in a thick stream now with the continued changes in position.

With Dreads and Scramble at either shoulder, sturdy pillars holding him suspended in the air, the souless eyes of their masks peering down leecherously, Troy let his arms flop uselessly down, the dull clang of his robotic arm hitting the floor barely registering in his ears.

He was weightless, floating, resting on the waves of some dark, ominous ocean under a moonless sky. Vaguely, he thought he should be able to see the spotlight in the ceiling, but everything was dark, and he stared into the void broken only by cool blue eyes and teeth looming.

He had no idea what he was saying, but he felt the working of his jaw, words leaving his lips as Bullymong eased into him, girth testing the limits even of Troy's drugged and pliant body. Incoherent syllables spilled out as the head of the larger man’s length slipped in, the razors edge of pain-pleasure cutting through the drug haze, brilliant and blinding.

Bullymong's grip on his spread legs was firm, his path eased by remnants of lube and the release of the two men before him still coating Troy's inner walls, and Troy felt every inch of the thick shaft splitting him wide for what seemed an eternity. 

Troy shivered, the only movement available to him in this position, as he felt Bullymong's heated skin flush against his, the slight grit of coarse body hair rubbing against him.

Everything was still, save for the rapid beating of his heart and the ragged breath rushing through his lungs. Three leering skulls with glowing eyes became five, as The Ladies flanked him on either side, completing the the circle of worship.

_Give your flesh_, the ghouls all whispered, their voices dissonant and echoing, words overlapping and tripping over each other as they chanted out of tune. They seemed to sway above him, back and forth, like predators waiting for the right moment to strike the killing blow.

Hands, countless hands, stroked and pulled and scratched his skin, carving invisible lines through sweat and dried finish, relentless and hungry.

Bullymong began moving. His thrusts were fast and hard, and he paused each time he forcefully drilled home, letting Troy savour each moment he was filled to capacity, lamenting the loss each time Bullymong pulled almost entirely out.

With his body hanging between their followers, raised as in offering to the empty heavens, his faculties limited to registering the rolling waves of lust washing over him, the rhythmic drag of the length within him was intoxicating, combined with the drugs to spiral his arousal to heights so beyond anything he’d experienced he thought he might die then and there.

He was crying out, gasping as the pause between thrusts decreased and the behemoth between his legs fucked him in earnest, the others holding him up, a prisoner in their arms, captive to the Rite.

The glowing orbs and fangs of the grinning skulls above him burned spots into his vision, flickering and pulsing behind his eyelids. Bullymong hiked up his legs, changing the angle of his thrusts so each rough motion haphazardly brushed Troy’s prostrate. Muscle and tendons tensed and pulsed as Bullymong mercilessly pounded him, the obscene noises of their coupling crashing like symbols in the silence.

It was ecstasy and excruciating, too much but still not enough to satisfy, to force the final leap into the precipice he teetered over.

Someone was stroking him, thumbing the wetness at his tip as his erection strained and bobbed under the onslaught. There were hands at his nipples, circling and thumbing them to hard nubs. Each touch was amplified, pushing the limits of his body and mind to register what was being done to them, but at the same time, as his high reached it’s pinnacle, Troy felt an eeire detachment, as if he was hovering outside his body, watching it being worshipped and praised and filled and defiled.

His body arched in their arms, his voice hoarse, throwing his head back as he hurdled over the edge, orgasm slamming violently through him like a physical blow.

He might have screamed, might be crying as weak spurts of come fell against his skin, dotting the hands exploring it, every inch of his being thrumming with the singular pulse of pleasure.

It seemed to last forever, rising to higher and higher peaks, uncontrollable, burning everything to ash in a wildfire until there was nothing left.

Troy went boneless where they held him, suspended, the effects of the drugs beginning to fade just enough that the hint of oversensitivity began to tickle uncomfortably through the haze as Bullymong's bruisng thrusts reached a cresendo. They all gripped him tighter as Bullymong beat out the rhythm to his finish.

Gentle fingers stroked his cheeks, and there was wetness there, new and drying tears rolling down his face, the soft touches in drastic contrast to the relentless slam of hips.

His cock was softening, flopping pathetically as Bullymong fucked him, the others straining to keep from dropping the body in their arms. Then, with an audible growl, Troy was pulled harshly against the huge body between his legs, and the God felt the telltale twitch and pulsing within his overused hole as he took one last offering.

Slowly, the dimly lit room came back into sharper focus, the masks of his followers once again lifeless and static. The languor seeped out of his muscles like water dripping out of cupped hands, and Troy curled and tensed his fingers experimentally, the feeling almost alien.

He felt Bullymong softening within him before the man cautiously withdrew so they could ease him down. They were careful but still the wet release dripped out of him, running out and over his skin uncomfortably.

Troy's mind slowly cleared as he was laid gently on the padding of the altar floor.

The Rite was over.

It would be some time before Troy was fully free from the grip of the drugs, when he would begin fully comprehending the aches of his muscles, when he'd have to get up and wash the remnants of the ritual from his exhausted body. 

Someone spread a blanket over his limp form, and one last touch of soft fingers lingered on his cheek before he heard the retreat of several pairs of feet.

No words were exchanged, no excess tenderness shown. They all knew better than that. Their time with their God had passed, and they were expected to leave Troy on the altar where they'd found him.

In the darkness, Troy heard the buzz and whir of C.H.4.7 saving the footage before returning to sleep mode with a soft metallic clang as it dropped to the floor.

He waited until he heard the door opening and closing before gingerly rolling onto his side. Troy groaned as his body protested, and lay still, waiting for more of the drug to wear off, taking stock of his aches and pains through the afterglow. 

Despite the minor complaints of his flesh, Troy felt the contented bliss that only came from being completely and utterly wrecked.

He breathed in deeply, letting out a satisfied exhale. The air was still thick with sex and incense, utterly still save for his breathing and the steadying beating of his heart. He'd rest a while longer, his limbs still too weak and boneless to warrant any attempt to stand. 

He'd be out of commission for the rest of the day, sure Tyreen would roll her eyes when he holed up in his room to recover, a generous mound of junk food and movies to binge on during his recuperation. He'd edit and upload the Rite footage later, he couldn't be bothered to even think about work today. 

Yawning, he cautiously eased himself up, pulling the blanket tighter around him. When he managed to get to his feet, he almost tripped on his first step forward, legs still not fully solid under him. He blanched as he felt the mess of drying wetness running down his legs and on his stomach.

Shower, then food, he told himself, as he hobbled across the room.

Still feeling groggy and partially disconnected from his body, each step he took seemed to clear his head a little more. He knew once he left the room it would be a full return to reality, bright daylight and the constant heat of Pandora's tireless sun.

There was no way he could manage this more than once a month, Troy thought ruefully. Still, he grinned, hand closing over the doorknob, he always felt eager for the next Rite once it was over.


End file.
